Personal Narrative-Home

995 Words4 Pages
You know him, this man, I know him too. He can be tall or fat for thin, of any race or color. The man that begs for change, dressed in rags and weathered cloth, a man that feels true shame. For him, the winters come long and the summers are no quicker. Every day is a struggle, yet he fights through all the while as her prays to die. I’ve seen these men, these woman, these children; confined to the streets by choice or misfortune. But what I’ve never seen is the man or woman or child that saw in unobstructed grace the true nature of these lost souls. That reached out their hands with genuine concern, that offered their ears or their eyes, a person that didn't look with pity. They do not wish for your pity. When I was 16 I’d travel, by train, 3 hours to Chicago, just to walk through the city. I could walk for hours it seemed. I loved the quiet solace of the trees and the beautiful blur of the sky between the leaves. That vast sky that connects everyone underneath it. All their pain and joy and laughter left to the silent sky. I loved watching the sky from the train, no matter…show more content…
A sick sound, a lonesome cruel sound that hurt me more than the sight of the stranger. His sunken eyes watched mine, but my eyes did not meet his. Not even for a moment. I wanted not, I dared not, to meet his broken gaze; that blank stare that with wounded eyes bared into my soul. I was naked. Merely a mound of walking flesh to him, passing by his broken corpse, that dared not approach him, that dared not console him. I let not my eyes touch his or my heart reach out. I walked on, his dark hollow eyes following mine as I passed, mine that had not met him. I pretended not to see, but he knew well that I saw. His empty eyes like broken clocks as he looked on, his decrepit being bound to the streets and left to wander in dark. And I walked on. And he looked on. And our eyes never did

More about Personal Narrative-Home

Open Document